“Don’t get me wrong. I am all for books and learning. My own son Bennett here was valedictorian at the school, as some of you may remember. But there are good books and there are books that plant the wrong kinds of ideas, books that spread untruths and impure thoughts. Books that can, if left unmonitored, cause divisions in society. And I fear we may have been lax in letting such books loose in our community without applying sufficient vigilance to protect our young and most vulnerable minds.”

Margery scanned the assembled heads, noting who was there, and who was nodding along. It was hard to tell from behind.

Van Cleve walked along the row of chairs at the front, shaking his head, as if the information he had to impart made him truly sorrowful. “Sometimes, neighbors, good neighbors, I wonder if the only book we should really be reading is the Good Book itself. Doesn’t that have all the facts and learning we need?”

“So what are you proposing, Geoff?”

“Well, ain’t it obvious? We have to shut this thing down.”

Faces in the crowd met each other, some shocked and concerned, others nodding their approval.

“I appreciate that there has been some good work done with sharing recipes and teaching the kiddies to read and all. And I thank you for that, Mrs. Brady. But enough’s enough. We need to take back control of our town. And we start with closing this so-called library. I will be putting this to our governor at the earliest opportunity, and I hope that as many of you as are right-minded citizens out here will be supporting me.”

 

* * *

 

• • •

The crowd drained away half an hour later, uncharacteristically muted and hard to read, whispering to each other, a few casting curious glances at the women who stood together at the back. Van Cleve walked out deep in conversation with Pastor McIntosh and either failed to notice them, or had simply decided not to acknowledge that they were there.

But Mrs. Brady saw them. Still in the heavy fur hat she wore outside, she scanned the back of the crowd until she spied Margery and motioned to her to meet her over by the small stage. “Is it true? About the Married Love book?”

Margery held her gaze. “Yes.”

Mrs. Brady exclaimed softly under her breath. “Do you realize what you’ve done, Margery O’Hare?”

“It’s just facts, Mrs. Brady. Facts, to help women take control of their own bodies, their own lives. Nothing sinful about it. Hell, even our own federal court approved that book.”

“Federal courts.” Mrs. Brady sniffed. “You know as well as I do that down here we’re a long way from federal courts, or indeed anyone who cares a lick about what they decide. You know our little corner of the world is highly conservative, especially when it comes to matters of the flesh.” She folded her arms across her chest, and her words suddenly exploded out of her. “Darn it, Margery, I trusted you not to create a stir! You know how sensitive this project is. Now the whole town is alive with rumors about the kind of material you’re distributing. And that old fool is stirring fit to bust to make sure he gets his own way and shuts us down.”

“All I’ve done is be straight with people.”

“Well, a wiser woman than you would have realized that sometimes you have to play a politician’s game to get what you want. By doing what you’ve done, you’ve given him the very ammunition he was hoping for.”

Margery shifted awkwardly. “Ah, come on, Mrs. Brady. Nobody pays any heed to Mr. Van Cleve.”

“You think? Well, Izzy’s father, for one, has put his foot down.”

“What?”

“Mr. Brady has tonight insisted Izzy withdraw from the program.”

Margery’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“I most certainly am not. This library relies on the goodwill of locals. It relies on the notion of the public good. Whatever it is you’re doing, you have created a controversy and Mr. Brady does not want his only child dragged into it.”

She raised a hand suddenly to her cheek. “Oh, my. Mrs. Nofcier will not be happy when she hears about this. She will not be happy at all.”

“But—but Beth Pinker just broke her arm. We’re already one librarian down. If we lose Izzy, too, the library won’t be able to continue.”

“Well, perhaps you should have thought about that before you started mixing things up with your . . . radical literature.” It was then that she noticed Alice’s face. She blinked hard, frowned at her, then shook her head as if this, too, were evidence of something going deeply wrong down at the Packhorse Library. Then she swept out, Izzy throwing a despairing glance their way as she was pulled along by her sleeve toward the door.

 

* * *

 

• • •

Well, that’s torn it.”

Margery and Alice stood on the stoop of the now empty meeting hall as the last of the buggies and murmuring couples disappeared. For the first time Margery seemed truly at a loss. She was still holding a crumpled leaflet in her fist and now threw it down, grinding it under her heel into the snow on the step.

“I’ll ride tomorrow,” said Alice. Her voice still emerged muffled from her swollen mouth, as if she were speaking through a pillow.

“You can’t. You’d spook the horses, let alone the families.” Margery rubbed at her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ll take what extra routes I can. But Lord knows the snow has pushed everything back already.”

“He wants to destroy us, doesn’t he?” said Alice, dully.

“Yes, he does.”

“It’s me. I told him where to put his fifty dollars. He’s so mad he’ll do anything to punish me.”

“Alice, if you hadn’t told him where to put his fifty dollars, I would have done it and in capital letters. Van Cleve’s the kind of man can’t bear to see a woman take any kind of place in the world. You can’t go blaming yourself for a man like him.”

Alice shoved her hands deep into her pockets. “Maybe Beth’s arm will heal quicker than the doctor said.”

Margery gave her a sideways look.

“You’ll work something out,” Alice added, as if she were confirming it to herself. “You always do.”

Margery sighed. “C’mon. Let’s head back.”

Alice took two steps down and pulled Margery’s jacket tight around her. She wondered whether Fred would come with her to pick up the last of her belongings. She was afraid of going by herself.

Then a voice broke into the silence. “Miss O’Hare?”

Kathleen Bligh appeared around the corner of the meeting hall, holding an oil lamp in front of her with one hand and the reins of a horse in the other. “Mrs. Van Cleve.”